


Descending, Descending

by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canonical Character Death, Everybody Lives, Gen, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Platonic Relationships, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hollyandvice
Summary: Cap is the first to try.He doesn't know that he won't be the last to fail.Steve, Guardian of the Gates of Valhalla, isn't quite sure what's so special about the man that so many people keep coming to try to save. But he's a man of duty and will do whatever his job tasks him with. Even when he knows it's futile.(a.k.a., five times someone tried to save Tony Stark from Valhalla and the one time someone succeeded)
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 52
Kudos: 238
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Reverse Bang 2020





	Descending, Descending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cachette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cachette/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Starlight [Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304762) by [Cachette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cachette/pseuds/Cachette). 



> Written for Cachette for the Cap-IM RBB. It was a joy to work with you, my friend, and I hope this lives up to your hopes! Please go [admire the art that inspired it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304762) as well!!
> 
> Thank you to all the folks in the PotS server that convinced me that was a publishable piece when I wasn't certain. You all rock!
> 
> Title from [a Meghan O'Rourke quote](https://www.azquotes.com/quote/441130) about Orpheus and Eurydice, the legend on which this is based. Section titles from [this list](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_words_for_love). Please enjoy!

# 1\. Cap (Philautia)

Cap is the first to try.

He doesn't know that he won't be the last to fail.

In fact, as they shave his head, strip him of shield and armor, and paint his skin with their runes, he doesn't know anything at all.

# 2\. Parker (Storge)

The first one to come is a boy. Small, lanky, tired. Desperate. Steve knows that desperation. He's seen it a thousand times before. He knows how to recognize the kind of desperation that drives people to his realm. His uniform — because surely that's the only thing that thing he's wearing could be — is in tatters, and the boy looks more exhausted than any that Steve has seen before.

"—— ————!"

Steve blinks through the white noise lacing through the boy's attempts to speak. He tilts his head to the side. A child. Looking for family, no doubt. A father, it would seem, if the other Guardians' whispers are to be trusted. And they are. "You've done well to get this far."

The boy blinks. "—— ————?"

"But you still have far to go to bring him home."

The boy stares at him. "… Steve?"

Steve blinks. "Yes. The other Guardians have told you about me."

"No, I know you because————"

The boys' words dissolve into the same white noise, this time sending a spike of pain through Steve's skull. He swallows around the pain, one hand coming off his spear to touch his forehead. The boy stops talking at that, and the pain recedes as quickly as it comes. Steve's mind shifts, slips, and then he's standing straight up again. "The other Guardians have told you about me."

The boy blinks again. "Right. Um. Sure. Let's go with that.

Steve nods. "Then you know what is to come."

The boy nods.

"Very well. And you are willing to pay the price?"

"Of course I am. He's _The Savior_."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Strange name," he says.

" _Savior_?"

"Yes. Odd for a father."

The boy just goes on staring at him like he's seen a ghost. Then he shakes his head. "Alright, then."

"Well. As long as you're certain."

"I am." The boy stands up a little taller. "It's for _the Savior_."

Steve purses his lips. "Very well then." He turns away, starting toward the gates behind him. "Follow me."

The boy scrambles to follow him. Steve pays him no heed. The gates open at the slightest touch of his fingertips. He steps through to Valhalla, the sound and noise and beauty overwhelming him only briefly. He's used to the wide and winding streets by now, used to the way people move through their final home so easily. The roads are dusty in the midday sun, and Steve revels in the brief moment of connection with other people. With other warriors. He turns to the boy, who's standing behind him, eyes wide and staring. He rushes to one side of the gates, staring around it.

Steve smiles indulgently. He remembers his own shock from the first time he'd seen the gates himself. Still, there's no time for admiration. "Come along, then. We only have a little time."

The boy pokes his head around the corner, eyes wide and surprised. Then he scrambles around the gate and through the doors. The thick oak closes behind him and Steve turns to lead him to the Hall of Heroes. Surely someone with a name like _Savior_ would be on file there.

Steve steps up to Odin, head bowed reverently. "My King."

Odin nods in return. "Who have you come to fetch, Gatekeeper?"

"The boy seeks the Savior."

Odin's eye widens. "I see. Well, then. If he is certain."

The boy scrambles up onto the dais beside Steve, a forward choice that no one has made before. Steve blinks at him. "I am. He's _the Savior_. I'm the one they sent to retrieve him, so I'm going to bring him home. I have to."

Odin's face softens. "There will be a price, young man. Are you willing to pay it?"

"Anything for him. I have to bring him home. —— is there waiting for him. We all are."

Steve blinks. That word doesn't cause as intense a spike of pain, but there is a ripple of discomfort. A hint of wanting, a kind of desolate hope. The sensation fades, though, and in a moment Steve has forgotten it happened at all.

Steve looks up at Odin, waiting for him to pass judgment on the boy. It's not the first time someone has come looking to retrieve a loved one, but it's the first time he's seen Odin consider for this long. Odin summons the boy to his seat with an easy gesture. The boy goes, bending his head to the king, listening intently. He nods once, twice, then shakes his head as his eyes go wide and he turns to look at Steve. Steve blinks back.

The boy straightens, turning back to Odin. "I understand. I will meet your bargain."

Odin nods. "Very well, then. Take him to town," Odin says to Steve. Steve nods, sweeping into a low bow. "You will find _The Savior_ easily enough."

Steve straightens, nodding. "Understood, my king." He turns on his heel, offering the boy a moment to catch up before he heads into town. The boy hurries up beside him and Steve sets a course for the middle of town. The pull of the boy's affection for his father was strong enough to make it a simple thing to follow. The boy kept pace with him despite his stature, though Steve can see that he is fascinated by the buildings around them. He can't shake a smile at the way he seems so embroiled in the world of the dead despite the way he practically vibrated with the strength of his lifeforce. It isn't every day that someone makes it this far into Valhalla, let alone be approved by Odin to seek out the one they sought to return to the land of the living.

"My name's ——," the boy says. Steve doesn't say anything , though he thinks the boy notices the way he winces at the spike of pain. "Did that hurt? Me saying that?"

Steve doesn't answer. He does pick up the pace, challenging the boy to keep up with him.

He does, without a problem. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Everything," he says. "I'm sorry for everything."

Steve can feel the way the boy must mean more than he's saying, must know exactly what he's apologizing for, but there's no reason to worry about that now. There's a _Savior_ to find.

The boy chatters idly about the land of the living. Steve tunes him out, as every time he tries to listen that strange pain comes back. He keeps up a swift pace as they reach the center of town. There's a small shop, a blacksmith, Steve thinks, that has the faint, ethereal glow of a soul sought. The boy doesn't see it, though. Steve's long since learned this. He's the one that can see the power here, the connection, not the Seekers. This is his trial, his calling, and he takes it on with due diligence.

Steve approaches the shop, rapping his knuckles on the door. The man that emerges is nothing like what Steve would have expected had he thought too deeply about it. He's not particularly tall, nor does he look particularly strong. In fact, he seems quite ordinary at first glance. Steve wonders idly what, exactly it is about this man that has drawn the boy to him. What it is that makes the boy think that this man is any sort of savior. He looks ordinary enough for a child of Valhalla, and Steve can't particularly find it in himself to find anything extraordinary about him.

But no matter. It isn't Steve's opinion that matters in bringing the lost home. It is the conviction of their loved ones that matters.

The man glances briefly up at Steve. There's a flash of something like pain in his eyes, and Steve wonders what it is that makes the man look so lost when he is here among the heroes. The man turns away and looks at the boy that accompanies him. "——," he says. A single word. A single spike of pain.

" _Savior!_ " The boy's joy is palpable, and Steve lets that warmth spread through his veins in turn. It should be an easy thing to let the word slip into his bloodstream, but it isn't all that simple. He turns back to the pair. The boy has his arms around the man's shoulders, and the man has his chin hooked over the boy's shoulder. All Steve can see is the man's face, eyes closed with a ghost of a smile on his lips. That same suffusion of warmth spreads through Steve's veins, and he has to fight down the desire to sink into it. "I'm so glad I found you."

The man laughs. "You would have found your way here eventually, ——." His voice is the first thing that Steve finds remarkable about the man. There's a sonorous quality to it, easy and warm. Steve's throat goes tight, and, incredibly, tears start to well in his eyes. He turns away, unwilling to let either of the travelers see him in his moment of weakness. There's no reason for them to know, no reason to let them see.

The boy huffs. "That's not what I mean. I mean that there are people waiting for you up there. You deserve to be among the living, what you did for — ———"

That same white noise takes over Steve's ears, high pitched and feverish, leaving him wincing. The sound twists and intensifies, and the only thing keeping Steve rooted to the spot is his sense of duty to the king he's left behind. He has to stand here, has to live through this, because that's what he owes Odin. So he grits his teeth and closes his eyes and waits for the pain to subside.

When it does, the man— the _Savior_ is standing in front of him, one hand hovering at his elbow while he stares up at Steve with wide, concerned eyes. It's as he's recovering from the bout of pain that he notices another remarkable thing about the man. There's a light in the middle of his chest, yellow-orange and glowing brightly, ethereal in a way that leaves Steve's knees weak. He blinks at it, concern and wonder in his chest. Huh. What is that?

"—? You okay?"

Steve flinches at the missing word. All thought of the light in the man's chest evaporates in favor of dealing with the issue at hand. The man pulls his hand back, eyes wide and concerned. "It's nothing." He waits for the last of the pain to subside, then stands up a little straighter. "Well then." He turns to the boy. "This is who you came looking for?"

The boy looks almost as worried as his so-called Savior, but he stands a little taller at the question. "Yes."

"Very well. Then this is the time to learn the price of returning a hero to the land of the living."

The Savior looks over at the boy. "——, I can't let you do this."

"So you know what the cost is?" the boy asks.

"Of course I do," the man snaps, “— tried to ————"

Steve thinks he should be used to the white noise by now. Whatever it is that he isn't supposed to know, these two clearly know it, and have no qualms about discussing it. He closes his eyes and rides out the pain, and when it finally subsides his two charges are glaring at each other, stubbornness in the lines of their faces.

"You have to let me help," the boy says.

"It's his choice as well," Steve counters. The boy turns to look at him, eyes wide and betrayed. "He is the one that is to be returned to the land of the living. Should he choose not to follow you, that is a choice he can make. This is not a one-way street."

The boy turns to look at the man. Just as the man goes to open his mouth, the boy speaks in a whisper. "—— is waiting for you. Please, don't make me go back to her and tell her that her daddy won't be coming home."

The man deflates. "Alright then." He turns to Steve. "Go on, then. Tell him what the price is."

"The price is trust." The boy tilts his head to the side, looking confused. "If you are going to bring your Savior home, you must trust that he will follow you all the way there. Doubt, and he will be lost to you."

"And how do I prove my trust?"

"You walk all the way back to Earth, and you do so without once glancing behind you to ensure that he is following you."

The boy contemplates this. "But he can talk to me, can't he? Tell me that he's following me?"

"That is not trust. You must walk, with no sign from him, back to the Gates through which you first arrived. Only then will he be returned to the land of the living. To your world."

"And if I fail? What happens to me?"

"Nothing. I may offer you a choice, but you need not take that choice should the time come. I will not trap you here, nor will I bar you entry from returning to Valhalla when your time comes. But you may never again attempt to retrieve a loved one from her grasp. But that is only if you fail. All that you need to do is pass through the gates without fear or doubt, and he will be returned to you."

The boy hesitates, glancing from the man to Steve and back again. As he stares at the man, his jaw goes hard, and certainty fills his features "I'll do it."

"—" the man says, but Steve cuts him off.

"And do you accept his offer?" he asks. The man looks torn, broken, unwilling to take that which is offered to him. Then he closes his eyes and caves.

"I do."

"Very well. Then dress for a journey, Savior. We leave immediately."

"What, right now?" the boy asks. Steve raises an eyebrow. "I haven't even had a chance to—"

"There's no chance to, my boy. All there is is the trek."

The boy stares up at him, lost and bewildered as the savior disappears into his shop. "Steve—"

"Turn away from the door."

The boy looks altogether too pained. "But—"

"This is your trial. You have accepted it, and there is no turning back until the deed is done."

The boy swallows and bows his head. "Understood." He turns away from the store, feet firmly planted and pointed away from what lies behind him. Steve nods.

He watches as the man comes to his door, closing it firmly. The boy flinches, and Steve turns back to face him. "Onward, then."

Steve walks beside the boy as they make their way toward the outskirts of Valhalla. It's a short walk, no more than thirty minutes, to the nearest connection to the gates. The boy keeps looking around, admiring the sights of Valhalla, as though there is nowhere else he'd rather be right now. Steve can see the curiosity in his gaze, and almost wants to answer the questions he sees bubbling in the boy's mind. It's a reminder of what came before, what exists in the world of the living, and how different it is from what they have here. When the boy starts to turn to him, as though to ask a question, Steve turns away.

No need to tell the stories that aren't his to share.

When they make it back to the edge where his gate resides, Steve easily traces the runes in the air that bring the gate into being. He turns to look at the boy at his side.

The boy is bouncing from foot to foot, looking eager and worried all at once. "Okay. Trust. Walk through the door, and trust. I can do this." He looks up at Steve. "You swear that he's following me?"

Steve blinks slowly. "Are you asking?"

"I—" the boy closes his eyes, looking suddenly worried and distracted. "I just want to know. Because if he isn't even going to follow me here, I just… I want to know."

Steve stays silent. This is not his trial to carry, but the boy's. He is the one that will succeed or fail this day.

It's the slightest twitch of his eyes. A hesitation or worry or something even less than either. Something small and insignificant, but enough to bring about the fate ascribed to him. For a split second, the boy's eyes light up, joy and hope and wonder in their depths. Then, in the same instant, his face falls, understanding all at once what he's done.

Steve sighs. "Trust was your payment, and trust you have not shown." He shakes his head. "He will return to Valhalla." A snap of his fingers and the deed is done. The man — the so-called _Savior_ — is gone in an instant, and Steve's left with the boy. The boy makes a strange, broken sound in his throat, and Steve wishes he could temper that pain somehow. But that is not his place. "The choice, then, is yours. You may stay behind, lose all memories of your Savior, and forget the world of the living. Or you may return home, to those that love you, and never again quest to Valhalla to retrieve a loved one."

"You have to give me another chance."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Come again?"

The boy darts in near him, fingers clenching in his sleeve. "You have to give me another chance. You don't understand how important he is. Please, you have to give me another chance."

"One chance is all that you were allotted. It is not my place to give you anything more."

"Then take me back to Odin. I know I can convince him to—"

"That is not my place either. You were given your chance. That is all you are due."

The boy sobs. "Please. Please, Steve, I need… I _need_ to do this."

Steve's heart breaks in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling. He's seen countless travelers fail and none have affected him this way before. There's something about this boy that gets under his skin. Something that means so much more than anyone that has come before. He shakes his head and the sensation fades. "What you need is not as relevant as the trust you have failed to show. I'm sorry." He waits a moment longer, not so much willing the boy to change his mind as wondering if he will. When his desperate eyes do not waver from Steve's face, Steve knows the boy has already forgotten the other option. He sighs, reaching out and preparing to touch two fingers to his forehead. "You have done well, young one, to come this far. Few with your few number of years have ever received Odin's blessing. You have done well."

"Not well enough."

"Perhaps. But this was your fate regardless. All we can do now is accept it."

The slip is minor, but seems to be enough that the boy catches it. "We?"

"You," Steve corrects. "All you can do is accept it."

Then he presses two fingers to the boy's forehead and, in the space of a blink, he has disappeared.

# 3\. Pepper (Philia)

The next one that comes to him is a beautiful woman with strawberry-blonde hair. Her eyes are a clear blue, and Steve knows somewhere in his heart that she is yet another of the doomed lovers. Someone so much further from the reality of the Path that she has no idea what she's getting into. Still, it is his duty and his charge, his calling and his responsibility, and he will do it without turning anyone away.

"You have done well to come this far," Steve says. He doesn't bother with all the intense overtones of the other Guardians. The ones that make it this far usually have some inkling of the power they're dealing with, and Steve is the least of all the Guardians. There are few he would feel the need to meet head-on and insist they turn back. Only those with families, with children, with those that have no choice but to live for the life behind of them instead of what they think is ahead. 

"Thank you." Steve catches sight of the sores on her heels, the way her shoes are dangling from the pack on her back. She must not have realized how far the trek would be, must not have known what the cost would be that she must pay.

Steve purses his lips. "You know you still have far to walk to bring him home."

Her face goes steely hard, something knowing in the back of his mind. This isn't someone that will give up easily. She won't be turned away with such a meager challenge. "I will walk however far I must to bring him home."

Steve wishes he could believe her. He bows. "I meant no disrespect. Only that a lady such as you need not injure herself thus for one that had already passed on."

"Do you know what it is?" she asks, voice thin and hurting. "What it is to lose the father of your child? The man that gave you the greatest gift of all? The man that—" She shakes her head. "No. No, you wouldn't know."

Steve looks up. "No," he concedes. "I don't suppose I would." He rises to his full height, not towering over her as much as he might once have. "Then you are certain that you want to proceed?"

Her eyes flash, a deep and burning fire within them. "I am certain."

He nods. "Very well then. What is your name, traveler?"

She speaks a word, but there's a high pitched buzzing that overtakes the sound, and Steve misses it. He purses his lips, a memory stirring in the back of his mind. A boy that had had much the same effect on him, recent enough but buried under the memories of the countless others that have come in the in between. Strange, for someone so poised and calm to have the same effect on him as a boy so small and unclear on his role in the world.

He can't hide his wince.

She tilts her head to the side. "—— said that might happen." She sighs. "——— said it might help if I introduced myself as Virginia."

Steve nods. "Virginia. That's a lovely name."

Virginia snorts. "If you say so."

"I do."

Virginia laughs. The sound is laden with hurt, with an unspoken ache that Steve neither knows nor could ever hope to understand.

He waits until the sound subsides before he speaks. "If you have come this far, you know what is coming."

"Valhalla."

"Yes. Should King Odin determine that your heart is true, he may let you seek your companion. Should he rule against you, no harm will come to you and you will return to the land of the living."

"And the price I pay to bring him home?"

Steve's lips thin into a grim line. "The time will come for that. No need to be overeager."

She glares back at him but does not argue, seeming content to follow him through the great gilded gates to Valhalla.

The trek to Odin is familiar. Steve has walked this path too many times to count, and he knows this one will be no different. Virginia seems a kind enough woman, but he fears she will be as doomed as all those that have come before her. Still, that does not exempt her from the option to retrieve the man she loves.

Odin looks upon Virginia with a kind of skepticism that Steve has never seen in his eyes before. "They sent you before the other?"

Virginia stands up a little taller. "No one sent me. I came of my own volition. He is mine just as much as he is anyone else's. I have a right to retrieve him."

Odin's face softens in a way Steve has never seen before. "Of course, my dear. But you also have so much more to lose than the rest."

Virginia's back goes ramrod straight. "So does my daughter."

That seems to have Odin biting his tongue. "Of course, my dear." Then he beckons her close. She approaches the dais just as that boy had done so many moons ago, and bends to hear what Odin has to say. Her face is less responsive than the boy's had been, but something in him knows that she's just as surprised. She doesn't look directly at him, but he knows that whatever Odin is saying has something to do with him. Still, she nods in assertion and stands a little straighter as Odin gives his blessing.

Steve feels the connection between her and her quarry even stronger than most. He turns on his heel, heading into town to find her husband. She catches up with him easily enough, her long legs closing the distance in a matter of moments. She doesn't speak, but Steve can feel the way she's willed with as much energy as the boy had been. Which means it comes as less of a surprise than he thinks it should when he comes to a stop in front of the same blacksmith's house that he had previously.

He raps on the door, and the same man steps out. His eyes flick to Steve, a strange expression hiding in them, before turning to Virginia. His eyes go wide. "——?"

Virginia smiles. "Hello ——."

"What about ——?"

Virginia glances over at Steve. "Our daughter is perfectly safe. She has her whole family looking out for her."

The man's eyes go iron hard. "Except for her mother."

Virginia bows her head.

"——."

"How was I supposed to leave her like that when there was a chance?" The man blinks at the vehemence in Virginia's words. "She misses you so much, Tony, how was I supposed to let her go on missing you when there was a chance I could bring you back to her?"

The man takes a step back at the vehemence in her tone. "——, you know I—"

"And don't call me that, you can see how he feels about that name."

Steve blinks when the man turns to look at him, scrutinizing in that way Steve finds himself expecting. Impossible that he could know what to expect of this man, and yet, here they are. "Fine," the man says, clearly speaking to Virginia even though his eyes are on Steve. "Then what do you want me to call you?"

"Virginia. He certainly is."

The man blinks, turning to look at Virginia. "Virginia? Really?"

"Your little protegé was the one that thought names might be part of the problem."

The man turns back to Steve, melancholy mixing with curiosity in his expression. "Huh. Well then."

Virginia turns back to Steve. "Alright, then. Are you going to tell me the conditions or not?"

Steve frowns. "You sound as though you already know them," he hedges.

"I know what you told his protegé when he came by, I presume the rules are the same."

Steve nods. "You must trust the whole way that he is following you. Doubt, and he will be lost to you forever."

She turns to the man. "But you will be following, won't you?"

"That is his choice to make," Steve says, cutting off the man's reply. He's not sure what it is that makes him so certain that he can't let Virginia hear his convictions, but something in him is certain of it. Something in him knows. "All he can tell you is whether or not he accepts the terms I have provided."

Virginia turns back to the man in the doorway. "I accept," he says, voice low and aching in a way that has Steve's heart hammering in his chest. "I do."

Steve can hear the layers of meaning in that last word, can hear the way it means so much more to both of them than it possibly could to him. He's not sure what it's all supposed to mean, what he's supposed to interpret it as, so he leaves it alone. "Then we are decided." He turns to the man. "You will want to dress for our trek." The man gives him that same inscrutable look as before and turns to enter his home. Steve turns to Virginia. "Turn around."

She closes her eyes, and Steve can feel how much it's costing her to do this. She turns slowly away from the door, her feet just as blistered as they had been before. Steve waits until the man steps out of the shop, closing the door firmly behind himself. Virginia blinks a few times before nodding once at Steve. "Lead the way."

Steve leads them through the town to the nearest access point for his gates. He draws the runes in the air, waits for them to appear before him, and then turns to Virginia. "This is your path. If you are going to take it, you must open the gates."

Virginia makes a strange face at that. "And I don't get to know if he's following me or not."

Steve shakes his head.

Virginia nods, her face taking on a mask of certainty. "Understood." She plants her palms on the doors of the gate and makes her way through.

* * *

The first day of their trek is duly arduous. When Virginia begins to tire, Steve offers to make camp for the first night. Virginia blinks at him. "For the _first_ night? How long is this going to take?"

"It depends on the depth of your need to bring him home. The more important he is to you, the longer this trek will take."

Virginia stands up a little straighter. "How long?"

Steve sighs. "For a wife with one child? One that she loves as dearly as you do? I dare say five days."

Virginia's eyes go wide. " _Five days_? But — said—" She cuts herself off at the way Steve winces. "Sorry." She looks away, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Then her face goes sharp and she nods. "Alright. Five days, then." She turns back to Steve. "How can I help make camp?"

Setting up camp is easier with two pairs of hands than with one. Virginia's husband stays dutifully out of sight throughout the whole thing, and Virginia makes a point of not looking behind them as they work. Steve cooks and urges Virginia onto her bedroll as soon as her eyes begin to droop. There's something familiar about this, about caring for her, but he can't seem to pin down exactly what it is.

Once she's asleep, her husband comes out from behind the small copse of trees that he had been hiding in. Steve hands the man a bowl of the soup he'd made, and the man digs into it vociferously. He sets the bowl aside when he's done, eyeing Steve warily. "Thanks."

Steve nods. "It is your first time out of the citadel, is it not? I can only imagine how hungry you must be." The man hums noncommittally and looks away. Steve sighs. "I am sorry."

The man blinks at him. "For what?"

"For what happened with your protegé before. I am sorry."

The man shrugs. "He's a kid. He was doing what he thought was right, but he also has no impulse control. I don't blame him for it."

"Then you must blame me."

The man's answering expression aches with a kind of longing that Steve can't even begin to parse. "No," he says. His voice is more hollow than any Steve has heard in all his time ferrying souls to the border. "No, I don't blame you."

Steve doesn't quite know how to respond to that.

"You should rest," Steve finally says to the man. He nods, settling down on the bedroll Virginia had set out for him. He lies down on it, his eyes fixing on Virginia's form across the way. He stares and stares and stares, until Steve thinks he may not fall asleep at all. But he does in the end, and that's all Steve needs to know.

The morning will tell what is to come.

* * *

Steve is pulled out of his usual calm of standing watch by the familiar tug in his chest. He closes his eyes and sighs, turning back to the pair he is currently escorting to the border. Virginia is wide awake, her eyes settled on her husband with the kind of horror of one that knows what she has just lost. The man just stares back at her, his eyes soft and gentle and caring in a way that makes it clear he doesn't hold this against her. Virginia clutches her hands to her mouth, eyes wide as she shakes her head. Steve can already see what must have happened. She must have turned toward him in her sleep and opened her eyes when she awoke without realizing what was happening. It isn't the first time he's seen this, but he's seen it enough to know that their bond must be incredibly strong.

He doesn't expect the swoop of familiar hurt in his stomach at the realization. As though this man is something more to him than someone to guide to the other side. As though he means something more. He shakes off the sensation, turning instead to Virginia. "I'm sorry."

It isn't what he'd meant to say and, quite frankly, he's not sure why he said it. But he did, and that has to mean something, if the way Virginia reacts is any indication. Her eyes go wide and she says something that sets Steve's ears buzzing the way they did when the man's protegé spoke, but he can't say for sure that he knows why she's looking at him like that. He just stares back at her, helpless and uncertain until her face falls with understanding. Steve hates that he's caused her grief and pain, hates that there's something going on here that might mean more to her than it does to him, but he is a Guardian first and foremost, and that is where his duty lies. "I must return him to Valhalla."

Virginia makes a pained sound, soft, and torn from her chest. Then she closes her eyes and turns away from her husband. This is not the way Steve would have wanted to see them part, but it is the way they have chosen to part. He can only watch, now. He snaps his fingers, and, for a moment, Steve thinks the man has turned to look at him with hunger and longing in his eyes. There's something there, something Steve should understand, but he doesn't. Or, at least, not well enough.

Then the man is gone, and Steve is turning back to his wife. A second _I'm sorry_ dies in his throat at the expression on Virginia's face. Longing, yes, and shattered hope, but also a measure of resignation. Like she's known this path was doomed from the start. Like she'd feared it. Steve almost doesn't have the heart to break the spell of her hurt, but he knows too that he must. "Virginia."

She closes her eyes, her face going tense at the sound of her name. "Steve."

Steve isn't quite sure how to respond to her single word, cold and aching and hopeful. He wants to apologize again, but something in him knows she won't take it well. He swallows. You have a choice, now."

She nods. "—— said as much when he got back."

Steve nods. It seems reasonable that she must have been working with her husband's protegé to try to bring him home. It's the sensible thing. For all that the two of them are so different, so too does he know that there's something more to the man and the dedication of those that love him. There must be something special here that Steve doesn't understand. Something…

He shakes his head. "You can stay here," he says, though his chest tightens at the prospect. "You will forget him and all that exists in the world of the living. You will act as Guardian in my stead so I may return to the land of the living, and you will be none the wiser about what you have lost. Or you can return to your life in the world of the living. The family you built with him and the people he loved. The choice is yours."

She laughs bitterly. "What choice is there? I can't bring my husband back, can't revive the father of my child, and this is supposed to be some sort of feasible option?" She shakes her head, bringing one hand up to bury her face in her palm. "No. You can't ask that of me."

"And yet it is all I can give you," Steve says. He reaches out, cupping her elbow in his hand. "He is lost to you, Virginia, and that is something that I cannot change."

Virginia brings her hand from her eyes to her mouth, pressing her fingers against it as she clenches her eyes shut.

"So, now that you have lost him, what do you choose? Do you choose to return to your world? To your daughter and his friends and to do what must be done to ensure that his sacrifice was not in vain? Or will you choose to forget instead? Choose to let the world continue on without you while you stay here in the dark, unremembering and beyond their reach?"

She looks at him, clear blue eyes on his face. "Those really are the only two options, aren't they?"

He tilts his head to the side. "Of course."

"And what… what happens to you if I choose the latter?"

Steve shakes his head. "You won't. We both know that. You love your daughter too much."

Virginia bows her head, and Steve knows he's right. He reaches out and takes her hands in his, cupping them between his palms. "You did well, Virginia. Traveled further than most. Did more than most could have done to bring him home. I am honored to have marched at your side." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "You did well."

She shakes her head. "Not well enough."

Steve has no answer for that. "Then speak the word, and I will return you home."

Virginia looks away, as though seeing something far away. Some far-off reality that she doesn't have the strength to recognize. She nods her head slowly, her eyes unfocused as she stares into the middle distance. "Alright. Just—" She turns to him, grabbing his wrist before he can draw the rune. "Just. When the last one comes, please… tell him enough to bring —— home. Tell him everything he needs to know to beat this. He has to. He's our last hope."

Steve shakes his head. I can do no such favors to any seeker. The path is to be tread on the seeker's merit alone, and any help I provide would make the task impossible to judge."

"But you said—"

"I did what I could, Virginia. What I had to do. That's all that you can ask. All that I am able to do. Please, don't ask for what I cannot give."

Virginia searches his face. Then she looks away, crestfallen. "I suppose that is how you've always been, isn't it?"

Steve doesn't have the courage to ask her what she means. He just traces his rune in the air and watches as she disappears. If the ache in his chest feels all the more prominent in light of what Virginia had brought him, that's no one's business but his own.

# 4\. Rhodey (Philia)

The next one that comes is a man. Black, average height, and he holds himself with a familiar strength and poise. Steve greets him with his typical warning. “You have done well to make it this far.”

The man stares at him for a moment, head tilted to the side as though contemplating him. “You say that to everybody that comes to see you?”

Steve smiles, instinct making him weak. “It’s my job.”

A strange look crosses the man’s face. “Right.”

Steve tilts his own head to the side. This isn’t a romantic love quest. This is a friendship quest. A dear loved one, yes, but not as romantic as Virginia had been. A brother in arms, perhaps. "You know you still have far to walk to bring him home."

“Yeah,” he says. “—— said as much.”

Steve frowns. “Who?”

“——“

Steve shakes his head against the buzzing. “I don’t understand.”

“——? Virginia? She was here a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yes. Virginia. You should have just said so.”

The man quirks his lips. “Yes, I suppose I should have.”

“And you? What is your name?”

“——.”

Steve frowns again. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m ——. James ——.”

Steve nods. “James. It’s good to meet you.”

James gives him a strange look. “Right. Okay then. So, what’s the deal?”

“I am your guide to Valhalla. Should you choose to continue your quest—“

“I will.”

“— then I will take you there to seek your partner.”

“Alright then. Let’s hop to it.”

James is a much less talkative companion that most that Steve takes to Valhalla. Steve isn’t sure if he’s grateful for that or concerned about the way James keeps looking at him. There’s curiosity in his gaze, and concern too. But Steve knows better than to talk too much to the living. He has no place in that world.

They arrive at Odin's throne and Steve waits for him to bid them forward. The king simply sighs at the pair of them. "Another one, Steve?"

Steve frowns. "I merely lead the ones that come."

Odin nods. "I suppose." He gestures James forward. "You know the price."

"Damn right I do."

Odin's lips twitch in what might be amusement. "And you are willing to pay it."

"I am."

Odin crooks his finger at James, who bends and listens to Odin's words. His face goes tense and he nods once, sharply. He glances over at Steve with an expression that Steve can't quite parse. Then he steps down from the dais and over toward Steve.

"Lead the way."

Steve turns, not looking at Odin as he leads James away. He remembers the path to the Savior's home with a kind of clarity that surprises even himself. He follows the pull from James' attachment to him, but his steps are sure and steady, knowing in the way they never have been for anyone else. He makes his way up to the door, rapping on the familiar door.

The man takes longer to make his way to the door. Steve isn't sure if that's because he knows or for some other reason, but something in him is almost certain that he knows. The Savior's eyes are weary as he looks up at Steve, weary and knowing in a way that tugs at Steve's heart. He sighs, and then turns toward the man at his side. "——."

"——."

The Savior shakes his head and sighs. "You are never going to give up, are you?"

James shrugs. "You didn't."

The Savior sighs, shaking his head. "Alright, then. Read him the riot act, ——," he says. "I'll go get dressed."

Steve stares at the closed door for a moment before he turns back to James. James is watching him knowingly, as though he understands the depth of the ache in Steve's chest better than Steve himself. Steve stands up a little straighter at that. "You must trust the whole way that he is following you," he says. His voice trembles with an unknown sort of pain. "Doubt, and he will be lost to you forever."

James nods. "I can do that."

Steve's chest goes tight, and he can't shake the words that spill over his tongue. "No one else has yet."

James' face goes flint-bright and steel-hard. "Then I will have to be the first."

Steve purses his lips. "Turn around."

James complies without a word, turning on his heel to face away from the shop. The Savior slips out from his shop, closing the door firmly behind himself. He stares at James' back with a quiet sort of longing that echoes in Steve's chest, familiar in a way that makes no sense.

"Onward, then," Steve says. James takes a step forward, and Steve falls into step beside him. James follows his lead easily enough once he takes it, and Steve leads them toward the edge of town. As he has every time before, he draws the rune in the air, reaching through time and space to pull the gates to them. Steve steps aside, watching as James reaches out, palm pressing flat against the gate. He closes his eyes, and Steve sees it the second he decides. He opens his eyes again and presses the gate open.

James moves faster than Virginia had. He walks with a soldier's pace, all the strength and certainty of someone that knows what they're about. Steve falls into step beside him, comfortable with the pace that James has set. They make their way over the expanse, moving through the lands surrounding Valhalla at a pace that Steve's never seen from the living that come in search of their dead. Steve doesn't ask, though. He moves onward and forward, letting James' sense of direction lead them to where they need to go.

They make camp long after the sun has set. James does more than his share of setting up, and Steve does his best to repay him with his mager culinary skills.

"Didn't know you had it in you ——."

Steve blinks through the white noise. "Hmm?"

"The cooking. I didn't know you had it in you.'

"Oh." Steve feels his cheeks go a little hot. "You pick things up when you spend most of your time alone and the rest caring for travelers that don't know the area."

James hums, still meeting his eyes head on. "Including two of my companions."

Steve inclines his head in acknowledgment. "They were both quite brave to have made it as far as they did. Especially Virginia."

James' lips thin. "And ——?"

Steve doesn't need to hear the name to know who James is referring to. "The boy fell prey to the eagerness of youth. A few more years of patience and he might have managed it. But I can't be sure of that. All I am certain of is that he came too soon, and that there was nothing I could do for him. Not that would bring your Savior back and return him to you as well. He had a life still to live, and I couldn't take that from him for a dead man."

James stares at Steve for a moment before turning away to stare into the fire before them. "I suppose."

Steve can tell there's something more that he wants to say, but James stays silent, staring into the fire until it burns low and it's time for them to retire.

Steve waits until James has fallen asleep to acknowledge the so-called savior that's hovering near the edge of the clearing they're camped out in. "Savior."

The man shuffles into the clearing, looking somehow smaller than Steve has ever seen him before. He's worrying his lower lip between his teeth, eyes shifting between James and Steve himself. "You're not going to let him stay, are you?"

Steve tilts his head, not certain what the man means. "Excuse me?"

"He's like —— and Virginia. He has a life up there, one that he deserves to live. I can't let you take that from him."

Steve blinks. "What will you do if I offer that to him? If he accepts?"

The man draws up as tall as he can seem to manage, his eyes fierce and bright. "I'll do whatever I can to get —— home."

Steve nods. "But what you can do is very limited."

The Savior deflates, knowing that Steve has called his bluff. "Please," he whispers. "I can't let him die for me. He's lost so much because of me already. I can't take anything more from him. I can't."

Steve finds himself unable to stop staring at the man. There's a crease running through his forehead, one that speaks to countless worries. There are bags under his eyes that speak to countless sleepless nights. He wants, so badly to give this man what he's asked for, and yet he knows that there is only so much he can do to interfere.

"Please."

Steve's heart seizes in his chest and he finds himself giving in as he so rarely does. "I will do what I can."

The answering light in the man's eyes is enough to have Steve glad that he'd given in. "Yeah?"

"I can't promise he won't overrule me," Steve cautions.

"That doesn't matter. I know—" the Savior cuts himself off, worrying his lip again. "I know you'll do what needs to be done. You always do."

Steve frowns. The words resonate somewhere in his chest, pulling at him in a way that no other quarry has affected him the way this Savior does, and he can't shake the feeling that there's a reason for that. That there is a world of knowledge that this man holds that will be the difference between Steve's joy and his loss. "What makes you think that?"

A look of longing stals over the man's face, and Steve nearly reaches out to him, though whether to comfort or condemn he isn't sure. He shakes his head and meets Steve's eyes head on again. "I just know."

Steve's heart stutters in his chest. He doesn't ask again.

* * *

When James wakes the next morning, Steve sees the way he keeps his eyes clenched shut, as though resisting seeking out his quarry. Steve wonders just how much Virginia told him about the path back to the land of the living. His throat constricts, hope and loss warring in his chest as he watches James roll to all fours, hand reaching out as though seeking something. when his fingers move close to the dying embers of last night's fire, his face relaxes. He turns and gets to his feet, facing firmly away from the path they had walked the day before.

"Steve?"

Steve turns away from his post and moves toward James. "Yes?"

"I'm ready to keep moving."

Steve nods. "Nothing to eat this morning?"

James shakes his head. "I need to get — back to his family."

Steve nods, throat constricting with hope and loss. "Alright." He starts packing up camp, and sees it the instant James is about to make a mistake. He turns to help Steve and, in so doing, catches sight of the Savior at the edge of their camp. Steve watches as James' breath stops, as his eyes go wide. He sees it the instant they both realize what has happened. James lunges toward the Savior, and it's all Steve can do to snap the Savior back to Valhalla before James can reach him.

James whips around to face him, eyes wide and bright and livid. "The hell was that for?"

Steve's chest constricts, but he holds to his principles, standing firm in his convictions. "You are not to seek your quarry while you bring them home. You know this."

"I wasn't looking for him, I just saw him!"

"And you did not trust in the process. I am here to guide you, to bring you to your world safe and whole. Under my code, his life is secondary to yours, and I will not fail in those convictions."

James shakes his head. "Then let me back there. Let me take your place so that I can bring him back. Let me save him."

"I can't let you do that. I can let you take my place should you choose that path, but I cannot promise you that you will be able to bring him home. You will lose all memories of your life before, lose all memories of the life you lived and the people you loved."

"Obviously that's what you think would happen," James sneers, "but I'm stronger than — and I loved him more than — and—"

"Be that as it may," Steve says, voice steel and stone as he talks over the seeker, "that is a chance you would be taking. Suppose you are wrong? Suppose that you truly do forget him? What then?"

James gapes at him, jaw hanging low and frustrated as he stares at Steve. "You really think I'm that weak?"

"I think you are stronger and braver than most. I also think that no one is above the rule of death's law. No one can rise above what the world has asked of them. If he has been assigned to Valhalla, that is his place in the universe."

"That's bullshit and you know it. If anyone could cheat death it's —— ————."

"He is no greater man than any other. He is one man just the same as all we have seen before. This is his lot, this is his path, and none of us can change it."

" ~~You used to think we could.~~ "

Steve frowns. The words come through as though through a weight of water and a distance that Steve could never cross. He hears them, but they don't compute. They linger and loiter, hovering at the edge of his awareness, but he doesn't have the strength or time or patience to understand what's going on deep in those words. He wants, so badly, to make this world his.

He wants.

"James—"

"Don't fucking bullshit me, ——. You know he deserves this."

Steve's throat goes tight, his heart hammering in his chest. _I can't do this. I can't._ "James—"

"Don't. Just. Just let me do this. Just let me stay here. Let me have this. Let me keep him safe."

"And his wife?" Steve asks. "His daughter? You would leave them alone?"

James stares at him. "That's low."

Steve smiles, but it feels weak. "It's the truth."

"Fuck." James shakes his head. "Fuck you, ——."

Steve reaches out, then pulls back at the last minute, uncertain if the touch would be welcome. He shakes his head. "I'd say I'm sorry, but we both know I'm not. You have a life to live, James. I wouldn't be doing right by you or the Savior if I didn't encourage you to live it."

James closes his eyes. "Alright. Alright. I'll do this. But you know I was his last shot."

Steve clenches a fist, heart hammering in his chest. "What?"

James looks up at him. "I was his last shot. No one else is going to come after him after this. If you send me away, you're damning him to a life here. Damning him to death."

"Death is no punishment," Steve counters. The company line feels hollow on his lips, but he knows what he's supposed to say, so he'll say it. "It is simply the next step in the path of the soul."

James snorts. "Tell that to his daughter and his widow."

Steve doesn't have an answer to that. He just draws the sigil in the air and presses it to the center of James' chest. In an instant, he's gone, and with him any hope for the Savior to return to the land of the living.

Steve isn't sure why that hurts so much, but he knows that it's a weight he's going to carry like a yoke around his throat for years.

# Interlude (Xenia)

Time passes. Steve walks dozens of hopeful seekers to the edge of Valhalla and back again, watches countless lovers and family and friends reunite and be separated again. Each time he meets them he warns them of the cost. Each time they agree he marches them to the heart of Valhalla. Each time they reunite with their loved ones they grow hopeful and Steve regrets the pain that he knows awaits them. And each time they fail, he holds them as they weep. He offers them the choice. Each time, they choose the life that still waits for them on the other side of the veil.

Steve never holds it against him. He has no one waiting for him on the other side. Better for him to be the one to wait here and stand guard rather than those that have lives on the other side.

So he stands and waits and if, when he slips into Valhalla his eyes seek out a man with dark hair and bright eyes and a quick tongue, that information need not pass further than his own mind. There's a whole world left to those that live, but for Steve, all that he has left is the seekers and the quarries and the people that come across him, making their lives a part of his own. Still, he seeks out the Savior, the man that had been sought out so far, so deeply, and so much.

Once, he sights the man across a wide square on his way to a quarry's home. He almost stops short, almost seks out the man across the wide expanse. He wants so deeply to reach out and grasp him by the arm. To drag him back above and into the land of the living. He almost reaches out toward him, ready to bring him back to the living, but then the man catches sight of him in turn and, before Steve can do anything, has turned and disappeared into the dark.

Steve stops trying to bring him back after that.

He doesn't stop looking, though. Every time he catches sight of the Savior in the midst of town, every time he sees what he could have saved, what he could have brought back to the living, he feels a little weaker. A little less certain. A little less settled in his convictions. Because if this man can be left behind, evn as he was so loved and so supported in the land of the living, then what role does Steve even have to play in the universe? This is what he thought he was made for, what he thought his purpose was, and if his role is only to guard the gates of Valhalla and never let the worthy return to the sun, then why is he here? Why give them false hope if there is no way to bring the worth back to life?

Steve almost asks Odin this once. Almost asks what his role truly is. But one look at the man's face is enough to destroy any hope of a kind answer. A benevolent god Odin may be, but that does not make him kind. So Steve holds his tongue and leads the seekers to their quarries and tris to forget about the man that was thrice summoned and thrice failed by those h loved. It hurts more than it has any right to, but Steve doesn't hold it against him. This is his burden to bear, the forgotten leading the best-loved, and Steve doesn't blame anyone for that.

If all he has left is to wait, then he will wait willingly.

# 5\. Morgan (Storge)

When the girl comes, Steve knows all at once exactly who she's there for. The resemblance is uncanny, even for the few times that Steve has seen the man. He's seen him more than any of his other charges, and yet he's a bit taken aback by how quickly and clearly he registers exactly who she is.

"No."

The girl looks as startled as Steve feels at the vehemence in his voice. "What?" she asks.

The fury and ache and pain and frustration in his chest ebbs almost as quickly as it had come. The certainty that no one should have let her get this far, that no one should have given her the opportunity to do something like this all disappears in a matter of moments. It leaves behind a hollow ache in his stomach, but nothing so intense that he can't handle it. He shakes his head. "You have done well to come this far."

The girl swallows — and, god, she can't be more than ten or eleven; what were they _thinking_ — and stands up a little straighter. "I'm here for my dad."

 _I know_ , Steve doesn't say. "You still have far to walk to bring him home."

She nods, her eyes flickering between both of Steve's. "I know. Mom said so."

Steve nods. "You're Virginia's daughter."

The girl stands a little taller. "I'm —— —'s daughter too."

Steve frowns, hating how familiar the buzzing has become by now. "I see."

She looks at him, her eyes wide and wondering. "You really don't know who we are, do you?"

"Should I?" The words slip out before Steve can hold them back. He looks away, unwilling to see what expression she's going to turn on him.

"Auntie — said you wouldn't. She said ————"

The buzzing takes over and Steve closes his eyes, trying to remain stoic in the face of the sound. He's angry enough that the other Guardians have let her make it this far; it would be too much to show any weakness in front of her. He feels his jaw go slack and his eyes fall shut, something in the cadence of her voice behind the buzzing enough to bring him a kind of peace he'd forgotten he could feel. Pain and comfort blend into one and Steve could sink into it if he didn't know he had a task before him.

Steve clenches his teeth and turns to her, hanging onto his convictions as she goes on speaking. "Enough." He doesn't put the weight of his power into the word, speaking low and level and certain instead. "You have made it this far. Your people have told you the price. Are you willing to pay it or not?"

Her eyes go wide. She searches his face, looking for something she apparently doesn't find. She bows her head and nods. "Yes. I will. Whatever it takes."

Steve's heart goes tight. He isn't sure which part had hurt her so, but he wants so badly to take that pain off of her face. He can't, though. It's not his place. "Come along, then. We have a ways to go still."

The girl nods, brushing at her eyes before she stands up a little taller and rushes up to stand beside him at the gates. "I'm ready."

Somehow, Steve is certain that she is.

Odin looks just as surprised as Steve himself had felt upon seeing the girl's arrival in Valhalla. He doesn't bother to school his expression when he sees her. Steve can only assume that Odin has deduced that the girl is as clever as her father, as he himself had. Odin gestures to the girl without waiting for Steve to say his piece. She rushes up to the dais, and Steve can feel her excitement down to his bones. She's a child, younger even than the protegé that had first sought the savior, and Steve wants to shield her from this pain more than he wants anything else in this world. Because he knows where this ends. He knows where this always ends.

So when Odin sends her back to Steve's side, his face grave and cautionary, Steve knows how this will end.

The walk to the blacksmith's shop is easier than Steve ever would have expected back when the protegé had first come to seek him. Steve knows the route by heart now, as though his own soul is tethered to this man. As though he is following his own seeker's path rather than the girl's.

He raps on the door as he has three times before. There's a longer pause this time, as though the man is expecting company even less than he usually has. When he arrives, though, he has less than a moment to spare a glance at Steve before his daughter is flinging herself into his arms. "Dad!"

"——? What the hell are you doing here, little miss?"

"Not that little anymore, Dad."

He pulls back, carding his fingers through her hair as he pulls it away from her face. He looks over her features, a flash of longing in his eyes. "No," he whispers. He pulls her into a tight hug. "No, I don't suppose you are."

Steve lets the two of them revel in one another's presence for longer than he might have let anyone else. But this man has a special place in his heart, one he's carved out by virtue of sheer exposure. Still, he has a role to play, and letting these two have their moment doesn't fall within the bounds of that role. He clears his throat, ready to step in.

When the Savior pulls away from his daughter, his face is a blaze of fury. He's in Steve's space, hauling him down to his level with a strength Steve wouldn't have anticipated. "What the hell do you think you're doing coming in here with my daughter, huh? You think this is any way to bring me back? By risking her too?"

Steve blinks at the ferocity in the Savior's voice. He's seen mothers and fathers angry before, upset that their children would risk their lives to save them, but this is the first time anyone has blamed Steve for their child's choice.

What the hell are you gonna do to make this right?"

"Dad!" The girl — little miss, he'd called her — grabs him by the elbow and tugs him away. "Dad, come on, you know that's not how it works — didn't let me do anything, I did it all of my own volition."

The Savior turns away to face Steve again, his eyes still blazing in a way that promises retribution when they make camp that night, but Steve also knows, somehow, impossibly, that he's going to follow his daughter into the dark., no matter what he might think it would cost her. Steve meets his eyes head on, unwilling to bend in the face of the Savior's intense stare.

The man finally turns away to look at his daughter again. "Just let me look at you a little longer, little miss," he whispers. "Just let me remember that you're here. That you're mine."

The girl doesn't argue, and Steve can't bring himself to pull them away from one another. He knows that's part of his purpose, his calling, his duty, but he won't do it any sooner than he absolutely has to.

As it is, he doesn't end up needing to wait too long. The girl pulls back, smiling up at her dad. "You'll get plenty of time to look, Dad. I just have to get you home."

There's a flicker of what might be fear on the Savior's face. "Baby girl, you know I don't care if anything goes wrong, right? That I'd never hold it against you?"

"I know. But Mom and Uncle —— and —— all told me what they did wrong, and I know I can do this without making a mistake. I'm going to bring you home, Dad. I promise."

Her dad smiles at her, his lips trembling. "Okay, baby girl." He leans in and kisses her forehead. She closes her eyes, and when he pulls away, she sways forward into his space. "Okay."

"Okay then." He glances over at Steve. "Same drill?"

Steve almost can't believe this is happening. That someone could be so important, so valued, so _loved_ for this to already be at the point of such a question. "Same drill."

He nods and steps back into his shop, closing the door behind him. The girl looks up at Steve, confidence in her gaze. "No looking back, right?"

"No matter what," Steve agrees. "You keep those eyes on me and the path ahead and everything will be just fine."

She tilts her head to the side, something shrewd in her expression. It fades, though, as she nods and turns to face away from the shop, feet pointed toward the street. Steve stands at her side, and when the door opens and closes behind them, she looks up at Steve, waiting for him to lead the way.

* * *

The first day passes without incident, much to Steve's surprise. In the morning, she stirs but keeps her eyes closed, turning her body toward the scant warmth of the fire's embers before she opens her eyes and looks not on the path behind, but the path ahead.

The Savior hadn't deigned to talk to Steve that night. Not like he had when James had come. 

One day becomes two, becomes three, and when the week of wandering is nearing its end, Steve finds himself torn between the hope that this girl might succeed where everyone else has failed and the melancholy realization that if she does succeed he'll never get to see this man again. The weight and pressure of that realization hits Steve harder than he might have anticipated. He's never felt attached to a quarry before, and to have it be this man, one that is so loved in the outside world feels wrong. But he leads her to the edge of Valhalla and prepares himself to invite her to open the gates back to the land of the living.

The gates come into view altogether too soon, and Steve can't help the feeling of impending loss that settles in his stomach. He doesn't want to settle for this, for a life without the Savior and his beautiful, brilliant daughter, but he can tell he's staring down the barrel of that life right now.

The girl catches sight of the gates a good mile after Steve does. She rushes up to Steve's side, clutching at his wrist. "Is that it? Is that them?"

"Yes."

She laughs, high and delighted, and starts moving with a kind of conviction and certainty that she'd lacked over the last few days. As the distance shrinks, though, so too does the speed of her steps. The confidence in her features fades, and Steve can practically feel her deflating with each passing moment. Their pace has crawled to a near standstill by the time they reach the gates.

Steve's never actually seen this particular set of gates. Every seeker before this one has given in far sooner. He lets himself stand before them at her side, reveling in the craftsmanship even as she seems to fall apart.

She reaches one hand out, pressing it flat against the woodwork. Steve doesn't let himself look down. She stares at her hand — stares and stares and stares until Steve wonders if she's somehow returned to the land of the living preemptively and left behind this strange shell.

"I can't do this."

Steve doesn't say anything, unable to intervene in this, her most precious moment.

"I can't do this by myself."

There's a sob in her voice, and it nearly sends Steve to his knees. But he stands tall at her side, unmoving in the face of her pain. He refuses to let himself look back at where the Savior stands behind them. Seeing her pain mirrored in his eyes would undo him, he's certain of it.

"Please." Her voice is whisper soft. "Please, just… can't you just tell me if he's there?"

Steve swallows past the lump in his throat. "You know I cannot."

She sobs again, her face screwed up in agony as she presses her forehead against the gates. She slams her fist against the wood three times in quick succession. Steve wants to pull her away and cradle her in his arms. Not a sensation he's used to when it comes to seekers. But then, nothing's been normal about this girl. Right from the start she was something different. He stays away from her, separate and steeled in his convictions. He's going to fall apart the second they're both gone from his sight, but for now he has to be strong, and Stand here, tall and unwavering in the face of her pain.

"Please, Steve. He's my dad."

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he won't let himself be the one that damns her. He can't be. He'd never forgive himself. He doesn't dare spak, lest even that tip the scales against her somehow.

"Steve, please, don't— don't send me back there alone."

It takes all his willpower and training not to intervene.

She stays there, trapped in limbo for longer than Steve thought she might be able to last. Then she whips her head up to look at Steve, as though to try to parse meaning from his expression. Steve lets nothing show, lets nothing go, and she lets loose with one last sob before, desperate, she turns and looks over her shoulder. Only then does Steve let himself follow her gaze.

Her father's eyes are misty, sad, and tired. He makes a jerky, aborted movement toward her before seeming to reel that desire in. She sobs again, taking a stumbling half-step toward him, drawing up short the same way he had. She shakes her head.

"Dad. Dad, I… I'm sorry."

"You did just fine, ——, little miss. You did just fine."

"But Dad—"

"I knew what I was doing, sweetheart. I knew I was keeping you safe. That was the only thing that mattered. That was it. So go back there. Live your life. Please, sweetheart. That's what would mean more to me than anything else."

She shakes her head, but when she looks like she's going to lunge at him, Steve forces himself to do his duty. He sends the man back to Valhalla.

She falls to the ground, fingers digging into the dirt where his feet had just been. She begins crying in earnest, now, as though her whole heart is bleeding onto the ground before her. She lifts dirtied hands to her face, clutching at it as though to drive away all the pain and loss. Steve wishes he could take it away from her, but he knows too that he can't. Instead he stands at her side, waiting in the hope that she might find a way to move through this with the strength her father imbued her with.

"I'll stay."

Steve blinks. "What?"

"Uncle —— told me what you told him when he messed up. About staying behind and taking your place. I'll stay behind. I don't— I don't want to go back there without my dad. I can't— I _can't_ —"

Steve lets go of any sense of pretense and pulls the Savior's little miss to him, holding him tight against him. "I can't let you."

"Steve—"

"No, little miss, you listen to me. You have a mother out there in the world that loves you more than anything left to her. You have an uncle that wants to see you grow to the woman that you deserve to be. I'd be willing to bet that they didn't even agree to let you do this. Am I wrong?"

She looks down, her cheeks pinking. "No."

"No. His protegé would have been the only one reckless and hopeful enough to let you do this. I know he loves you, but he's still young too. I can't let you stay. You have a life out there, sweetheart. I… I don't. So you are going to go back out into the world, back to your family, and you're going to live the life your father would have wanted for you."

Little One shakes her head, wrapping her own arms tight around Steve's back. "I can't go back there. Please, don't make me."

Steve kisses her temple. "I'm sorry, little miss. I can't let you stay here. You have a whole life to live. I've already lived mine."

She clings to him, her arms trembling with the strength of her hold. Steve lets her stay there, wrapped in his arms until she relaxes ever so slightly. Then he pulls away, tracing the return sigil in the air before her. He presses it to her forehead with one last kiss, and then—

Then she's gone. The last of the ones that might have saved the Savior. That's just the way it's supposed to be, though, isn't it? The dead stay with the dead, and the living… the living live their lives.

That's how it's always been, and Steve is nothing if not a maintainer of balance in this world. It's all he's been for as long as he can remember. It's all he'll ever be.

# +1. Steve (Agape)

It doesn't take Steve as long as he expects before he caves. He opens the gate to Valhalla and approaches Odin's throne alone for the first time. Odin's face makes it clear that he's been expecting this, though how Steve can't even begin to fathom. He bows, then straightens and waits for the word from his king.

Odin sighs. "You understand the cost should you fail."

"I'm not asking to be returned to the land of the living," Steve insists. "I just want to see him home."

"And yet if I let you go with him, you must walk through the gate before him to fulfill your promise, returning you to the living world. That is the reality you would have to create. One where you are back among the living. Is that what you would choose for yourself? For him? Knowing that should you fail you would be damning yourself to never enter Valhalla and stand at his side ever again?"

Steve swallows, feeling something deeper, darker, more insidious in Odin's words. Like there's something more to this man that Steve doesn't understand. "This is my choice."

"Yours and his," Odin reminds him. He sighs, shaking his head. "I suppose I know how this is going to end already. If he agrees, you may complete the quest. Should you succeed, I will find another to stand in your place at the gates to Valhalla."

Steve nods and bows again. "Thank you, my lord."

Steve follows the by now well-worn path to the Savior's shop. He raps on the door and waits with an impatience he can't describe for the man to let him in. When he finally does, Steve lets himself fully drink in the man's presence as he somehow never has before. There's beauty here, a kind of radiance that none of the other quarries have ever had, and Steve knows, deeply, intimately, that this man is more than any of the other quarries. No one else has ever been sought more than once, let alone four times.

The Savior blinks. then puts on a cool expression that Steve can tell is little more than a facade. "Back again, ——?"

Steve flinches at the sound, his soul rubbed raw by the reality of what is coming to him. He recovers as quickly as he can, but knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he has been made. "Indeed."

The man hums, head tilted to the side. "And? Which of my ill-gotten friends has come to try to save me this time?"

Steve blinks. "None of them."

"Then what are you doing here?" he asks with a frown.

"I—" All at once, Steve feels like a fool. What would this man, this _warrior_ see in a Guardian like him? What could he possibly offer that would mean enough to this man that he would follow Steve through the trials of travel to the other side? For an instant, Steve considers turning his back on th man and leaving him to the glories of Valhalla. There is no shame in living out the rest of his existence here among the heroes of old and the heroes that are still to come.

Still. Something had drawn him here.

"I'm here to bring you home."

The man blinks. "Come again?"

Steve feels young and foolish in a way he's never felt before, certain that he's made some misstep here that will leave him without a quarry to lead to the other side. But there's something earnest in the man's eyes, hopeful in a way that gives Steve strength. "I'm here for you. To take you home."

"Why me?"

"You are the only person that has been sought more than once in my time as Guardian. For you to have been sought four times… you must be someone important. Someone worth saving. I'm here to do just that."

"Odin allowed that?"

"He did."

The man worries his lower lip, his eyes darting back into his workshop. "What is your price, then? If you fail?"

Steve frowns. "What?"

"The others were all returned to the land of the living without me; that was their punishment. What will yours be?"

Steve swallows. He wants to look away, isn't sure if he can find the words to tell the man the truth if he's meeting his eyes. But he knows too, somehow, that it would be a disservice to answer without meeting his eyes. "Then I am barred from Valhalla forever."

The man makes a wounded sound that tugs at Steve's heart, but not enough to leave him wavering in his conviction. "Steve—"

"It is an inconsequential risk if it is enough to bring you home to your loved ones. Besides, it's perfectly likely that no one would ever relieve me of my position anyway. At least this way I'd know that I tried to save someone worthwhile on the way."

The man stares up at him, face pale and eyes wide. "You're serious."

Steve nods. "It's no risk to you, see? Everyone you love will still be able to come to you in Valhalla should I fail. It is inconsequential what happens to me if it could bring you the life you deserve to live."

The man gives a humorless laugh. "Inconsequential my ass." He shakes his head. "God. You still don't get it, do you?"

Steve frowns. "Your family is waiting for you. Your daughter deserves to have her father by her side."

"That's a low blow ——."

"Maybe." Steve isn't sure where the confidence is coming from, but it surges through him. "But it's going to be enough, isn't it?"

The man grunts.

"You trust me?" Steve asks, holding a hand out to the Savior. He doesn't know what makes him say it, but he knows it's the right thing to say when his eyes go wide, his pupils dilating in a way Steve has never seen in a quarry before. He reaches out, clasping Steve's hand in his. A shock of familiarity courses through Steve. It's strong enough to nearls knock him off his feet. But there's no time to relax. The Savior's answer is what this is all for, and Steve can't miss it.

"I do."

Steve nods, both in assent and to shake away the lingering daze. "Then let's get you home."

Steve turns on his heel, the man's expression seared into his mind's eye. Hope and worry and a desperate sort of fear that Steve's long since become accustomed to in a quarry's eyes. Though seeing it in the Savior's eyes is a whole different kind of pain. Steve waits until the door to the shop clicks shut behind him before he begins the slow march to the edge of the city. Valhalla isn't vast, but it always takes longer than Steve expects to get to the edge of town.

He traces the runes in the air, letting the magic flow through him to open the gate to the other side. He hesitates for the briefest moment, hand flat on the warm wood of the gate, steeling himself for whatever is to come. When he opens the door onto the same forest he always finds, he's not sure if he's grateful or concerned.

He makes his way into the woods, feet finding footing as surely as they always have. Pine needles rustle under his feet, and the ache in his muscles is a welcome companion on his trek. He marches further than he had with little miss, with Virginia, further even than he had with James, his strength and familiarity with the lay of the land enough to get him much further than any other seeker. He finally calls it a night when the chill starts to slip under his robe and trail chilly fingers across his skin, chilling him more thoroughly than ever before. He settles in for the night, paying constant attention to the direction of the soul tether that's tying him to the Savior. He knows the rules, knows all the way the tether tries to trick a seeker into looking back for the quarry. He won't let himself fall victim to the traps, won't let the Savior's life be cut as short as it had been. Steve owes it to all those that came for him.

One day becomes two, becomes three, becomes five, and Steve knows that the deeper the bond, the longer the trek, but there's no reason for his trek to have been this long. He doesn't know the man beyond what he'd seen of him in the four times he'd taken the man near to the breach. It makes no sense for the trek to be this long except that it is. Somehow, it is. Each night that he makes camp he lets himself ponder the question. As the week comes to an end Steve concludes that the only possibility must be that because this man is all that he knows and, thus, is the deepest bond he could ever know. It's the only outcome that makes any sense.

The pull of the soul tether is stronger than ever that morning. Steve had felt it weighing him down over the last week, but it isn't until this moment that he realizes just how heavy a weight it is on his soul. It's suddenly no wonder that his daughter had come so close to saving him only to lose sight at the last moment. For a brief moment Steve wonders if perhaps that might be his fate as well, if this weight will be too much and will drag him back down to Valhalla. But he turns away from the tether and opens his eyes, and when he does it's to see the brilliance of the gates before him. He's going to make it. He's going to _save him_.

The thought is enough to hurtle Steve to his feet, the camp practically packing itself back up in his haste. Steve's on his feet, pack on his back in record time, ready to make the final ascent to the gates. Yt, just as they had been for his daughter, each step is more challenging than the last. Each stp is one more reminder of how far he still has to go, a stone in his shoe and a weight around his ankle, dragging him back toward Valhalla. It's as if all the days of walking have caught up at him all at once and are trying to single handedly return him to his rightful home.

Steve closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. "Please. If Odin wants me back, I will return willingly. But please, just. Please, just let me see him home."

There's a violent, visceral tug from the soul tether, one that pulls at Steve's gut hard enough to leave his stomach rolling. He grits his teeth against the bile and forces himself forward, one foot, then the other, again and again until he thinks his shaking legs might give out beneath him. He keeps his eyes trained on the gates, though, one foot in front of the other, waiting, hoping, straining to get to the summit and return the Savior to his loved ones.

Steve's practically on his knees by the time he makes it to the gate. He falls against it heavily, forehead and palms taking his weight against them as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck," he whispers against the wood. He can feel the weight, the pain, the strain, all of it compelling him to turn on his heel and face the man that is the root of it all. But he can't, not if he wants to complete his task. If he wants to save the Savior the way he saved— saved—

Steve shakes his head, trying to fight down the thoughts that keep pressing against the base of his skull, always right there but never enough to crawl their way into his full consciousness. He just has to open the gate. He just has to make it through. He just has to see this to the end and then he can rest.

For a split second, Steve thinks he feels a hand at his elbow, helping him up, lifting him just high enough to stand on his own two feet. To hold him up and let him lift his head high. This is going to be enough. Whatever anyone else thinks, this is going to be enough.

Steve lets all his weight come to rest against the gate and, with his eyes closed defiantly, he forces the gate open. This is going to be enough.

It has to be.

When he steps through the gate, he's met not by Virginia or James or the Savior's daughter or even his protegé. Instead he's met by a beautiful woman with long, deep red hair that rocks Steve to his core. Her name's on the tip of his tongue, teetering there as though desperate to spill over, but he doesn't— he doesn't—

She turns to him and her eyes go wide. "Steve?"

The memories surge up over Steve's head and before he can do a damn thing he's fallen to his knees, bile rising in his throat.

Oh god. What has he done?

Before he can do more than gasp for a breath that he knows won't fill his lungs, Steve slumps to the floor in front of the only other person he might have traveled this far to save.

# 0\. Captain (Philautia)

Steve dreams. He knows it's a dream because he's been here before. He's seen this before. He knows what the world wants of him, knows what will happen before it does. He has no choice but to walk through the world with his heartbeat pounding in his chest while a ghost of his past self makes the mistakes he's spent years trying to protect others from.

He watches as his past self walks through the first six gates. As he faces demons and monsters alike, trials and tribulations and the crossing of the Dark River. The course that all the others had taken to get to him, and the course he'd never truly seen the way they had. Not until now.

He watches as his other self comes upon the previous Guardian. The Orange-Hearted Guardian, the others had called her. He can see why. She bears the same bright light that the Savior has always borne. It rests not in the center of her chest where the Savior had carried it, though, but around her right wrist. A weapon in her time of need, he thinks it might be. Not the protection the Savior had carried it as, but a weapon to protect her against the powers of Valhalla, the land that had refused to grant her access.

"Natasha?"

The woman winces, hand going to her forehead in an all-too familiar fashion. Steve is intimately familiar with that pain, intimately familiar with the way it lingers and beckons one into darkness. But this woman is powerful enough to withstand it. He isn't at all surprised. Something in him knows he never would have been.

Natasha. What a beautiful name.

"You have done well to make it this far," she says. Steve wonders distantly if he'd sounded as dispassionate as her when he'd spoken the same words. He thinks he must have.

"Natasha, what are you doing here? We all thought—"

"But you still have far to go if you are to bring him back."

Steve watches his past self stop short. "Only him?"

Natasha tilts her head to the side. "Only one may pass through the gates at a time."

"But what about you?"

"I am a Guardian. My place is here."

"Bullshit it is Natasha—" and Steve watches in horror as she flinches again, "your place is on Earth!"

The guardian — Natasha? — keeps her hand pressed to her head for a long moment. When she looks back up at Steve her face goes through a slow shift of emotions before settling on something stoic. "My place it here."

Steve watches his counterpart's face go through a myriad of emotions, brow twisting and lip curling with the kind of frustration that Steve knows all too well. He shakes his head and faces Natasha with a matching stoic expression. "Alright, then. You must know why I'm here."

Natasha inclines her head. "If you'll follow me."

Steve follows the pair of them through the gate to Valhalla, watching them make the familiar trek to Odin's palace. There, he watches Natasha kneel. "My lord."

"Who has come this time, Guardian?"

"He seeks _the Savior_."

"Ah. Of course he does." Odin beckons Steve's counterpart closer, and though Steve tries to follow, something keeps him from getting too close. He's forced to stand by and watch as Odin speaks to this bizarre alternate version of himself.

His other self nods, glancing over his shoulder. "And Natasha?"

Odin shakes his head. "That is a question I cannot answer."

Steve's counterpart nods, and he steps down to wait beside Natasha again. She meets his eyes briefly before standing and turning on her heel to follow the well-worn path to the blacksmith's shop. Here, in his dream state, Steve can see the soul tether that binds his counterpart to the Savior. It's bright, stronger than anything Steve's ever felt before. But that's impossible. There's no way—

Natasha raps her knuckles against the door. The Savior slips out quickly, his eyes darting first to Natesha, then to Steve, then back to Natasha. "Nat?" he whispers.

Natasha flinches again, and Steve watches his counterpart reach out toward the savior only to draw back at the last moment. "I don't think she remembers."

"No shit, Sherlock. Why though?"

"Must have something to do with the Soul Stone." Other-Steve points at the orange light at Natasha's wrist like that explains anything.

Apparently it does for the Savior. "Damn. Wish I'd known."

"What could either of us have done?"

The Savior purses his lips. "We could have done _something_ , Steve. We could have done something."

"What, like you did _something_ with the Infinity Stones?"

The Savior flinches, but seems to recover quickly. He turns to face Steve's counterpart, his jaw tight and his easy clear. "I held up my end of the bargain, Steve. You can hardly blame me for that."

"You said—"

"I said _maybe_ not die trying. You and your eidetic memory should remember that as well as I do."

Steve watches his counterpart fume briefly before crossing his arms over his chest, glaring down at the Savior. "Yeah, well. Let's see if we can't keep that from sticking."

The Savior blinks. "We can do that?"

Steve's counterpart jerks toward him, some kind of aborted gesture of comfort that dies before it can begin. "Yeah. Apparently the Greeks didn't have it all that wrong. Orpheus and Eurydice?" he says when the Savior blinks in confusion.

The Savior's eyes go wide. "So, what, we have to _walk_ back to the land of the living?"

Natasha comes out of her pain-induced haze at that moment. "It will be far less of a trial for you than it will be for him, _Savior_ ," she says not unkindly. "Your travel shall be as easy as breathing. He is the one that will bear the trial of the trek."

The Savior blinks over at Natasha, then back to Steve's doppelganger. "I can't let you do this, Steve."

"Bullshit you can't. You have a daughter, a wife, people up there that _love you_ Savior. You can't really tell me that you want to leave them all hanging."

The Savior bites his lip, eyes darting between both of not-Steve's. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright then." He turns to Natasha. "How does this work?"

"You both must understand the price it will cost your seeker to begin this journey."

The Savior blinks. "Price?"

"Trust," Natasha says, eyes on Steve's counterpart instead of the Savior. Steve sees his counterpart's eyes go wide, as though he hadn't known that part. Had he not? Had he jumped in without knowing? Had he so blindly come down here to save the man in front of him? "You must trust all the way that he will be behind you."

"What does that mean?"

"No looking back. No speaking to him. No communication of any kind. This is the price you must pay to bring him home. Complete and utter trust."

Steve's counterpart turns to the Savior, something lost in his expression.

"Come on, —, you said it yourself back in 2012. You trust me."

Steve's counterpart blinks dumbly at the Savior. "I did."

"What?"

"I did trust you. Back before— before you gave up everything to save the universe."

"What, that made you trust me _less_?"

"With your life? Your happiness? Yes. Yes, it did."

The Savior stares up at him, stricken. "Steve—"

Steve's counterpart shakes his head. "——, I want to do this, I do. God, more than I can say. But what if I fail? What then? You can't ask me to leave you here forever."

The Savior's face goes hard. "Then I can't ask you to try to save me."

Steve's counterpart closes his eyes. "Then where do we go from here?"

"Steve—"

"There is another option," Natasha says. "If the Savior is refusing your assistance, that is."

"I am," the Savior says, never taking his eyes off of Steve's counterpart.

"Then there is another option."

Steve's counterpart turns to her, eyes bright and hopeful. "What? What is it?"

"You can take my place as Guardian. Return me to the land of the living, and stay here in my place."

Steve watches in horror, even knowing what the outcome is going to be. His counterpart is nodding even as the Savior is shaking his head, eyes wide as he reaches out toward him. Before anyone can do a damn thing to stop it, Natasha's eyes are going wide, the gem at her wrist catching in the Savior's hand even as his counterpart's hand comes to rest on her spear.

The resulting explosion is tremendous. Natasha is blown out of Valhalla and thrown back into the land of the living. The orange gem runs its way up the Savior's arm to nestle atop his breastbone, a price paid for his refusal being met with Steve's sacrifice. It's as though the gem can tell this was not a trade willingly given by all parties, and seeks to heal the imbalance. To tie the two of them together.

Steve's counterpart is thrown back with nothing but the spear in his hand. He watches his other self reach desperately for the Savior — and there, there's his name on the tip of his tongue, ready to leap past his lips and make itself known, but it's not there yet, just a little bit more and — but it's no good. Valhalla has him in her clutches already and Steve's counterpart is being pulled away by the weight of duty and the power of the spear in his hands. He sees it the instant his counterpart gives up, and then… then there's nothing but the Savior reaching helplessly, desperately for a man that isn't there any longer.

Steve reaches out for the Savior, hoping against hope that he might reach him. He knows it's a futile hope, but if only— if only—

Steve's eyes open to the sterile white of what he now knows is a hospital wing. There are tears on his cheeks, and he knows even without looking that everything's going to be different now. Still. Still, he forces himself to turn his head toward the hand that's resting atop his on the bed. The Savior is there, head resting on the bed beside Steve. Steve could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. If he could move.

He must make a sound because the Savior startles awake, eyes bleary as he tries to take in his surroundings. The second they settle on Steve he's up like a shot. For an instant Steve thinks he must be leaving and must make another sound because the man starts talking.

"Just getting you something to drink, Steve, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere, it's okay, it's okay."

Steve wonders at the frantic nature in the Savior's voice, the desperation and fear and hope all mixing together in his throat. What could be so wrong?

He comes back a moment later, tilting a straw toward Steve's lips. He takes a few drinks, eyes on the Savior's the whole time. God, his name is _right there_ , if Steve could just—

The man pulls the straw away as though worried about Steve drinking too much. He sets the cup aside, taking his eyes off of Steve for a moment. "Do you know who I am?"

Somehow, all at once, that's all Steve needs. "Tony," he whispers. He reaches out, fingers ghosting over the arch of Tony's cheek. "God… Tony."

Tony just smiles back at him. "Hi, Steve."

Steve swallows. "Hi."

This changes everything.

# Savior (Eros)

The seven years in between Steve leaving on his failed attempt to save Tony have been kind in ways Steve is utterly grateful for. Pepper had moved on, found a life with Happy that she never could have found with Tony, focused as he was on the work of being a hero. Morgan still desperately loves her father, but now she's taller, older, _more_ than she'd ben at three when Steve had gone to try to save her father all those years ago. Rhodes is as upstanding as ever, having moved on from the Air Force into politics. Steve can't say he's surprised; after spending all those years dealing with Tony's political fumbles and the bullshit of the way the government handles everything military, it's a progression that Steve can understand. And Nat—

God. _Nat_. Seven years in Valhalla are more than worth it to turn the corner and see Nat there alive and well in ways Steve never would have thought possible seven years ago. It takes her a good five days to warm back up to him and another three for her to be willing to tell him why.

"I left you there, Steve. I left you there, and I… I couldn't forgive myself for that. And no matter how many times I tried, I could never get back to Valhalla to bring you home." She shakes her head. "It should have been me, Steve. It should have been me."

Steve stares at her, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. "You really think that?"

"I'm the one that gave myself up for the Soul Stone, Steve. That means it was my job to stay there and play sentinel."

"And what put us in the position of needing to go back in time to get the Stones anyway? Me, Nat. Me and my stubborn inability to understand where Tony was coming from back when we still had a chance. You spent three years convincing me of that, Nat. Don't stand there and pretend you didn't. I'm the one that kept us apart and prevented us from saving the universe in our stand in Wakanda. That's on me, Nat." He starts to reach out for her hand, pulling back at the last moment when he realizes he isn't sure how the touch would be received. "That's on me, and if I could stand there and take your place in Valhalla so that you could return to Earth, I have no regrets."

Nat closes her eyes, showing more emotion in the tiny twitch of her jaw than he's seen in a long time. "I know."

Steve turns his hand in her grasp to intertwine their fingers. "You don't have to forgive me. Just know that I don't regret it."

She nods, face still taut with emotion. It's more acknowledgement than Steve thought he would get, and he lets that relief settle against his sternum. This is going to have to be enough for now. It has to.

The strangest part of all might be Tony. It's strange, living with seven years of memories wherein he had no idea who Tony was. Leading his seekers to his side four times and never recognizing the man as someone he should know. And the name his mind had so readily supplied when Peter used his name — just thinking it is enough to have the color rising in Steve's cheeks.

Tony settles down against him. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Steve snorts. "You can afford quite a bit more than that." He doesn't let himself look at Tony, thoughts still tumbling over and over in his head.

 _Savior_. Not that it doesn't describe Tony to a T, but it also could say so much more than Steve can admit, means so much more than he can ever hope to convey. Tony is everything— _everything_ that Steve had wanted after he'd landed in the 21st century and Steve is frankly grateful that he'd had the chance to go back to try to save him. Existing in the future without him would have just been wrong.

"Hey." Tony reaches over, brushing his fingers over the back of Steve's hand. "Whatever it is, I'm not going to think less of you for it."

Steve closes his eyes. "I know."

Tony stays still and silent, as though hoping that would be enough to get Steve to spill. When it isn't, he leans over, bumping his shoulder against Steve's. "Well, are you at least gonna let me sit with you while you marinate in your thoughts?"

Before he can think better of it, Steve's turning to face Tony just to catch sight of the smile he can hear in the man's voice. What he gets is more than he bargained for. Tony's eyes are crinkled at the corners, joyful and real, older than he'd been in Valhalla, as though he's been returned to his true body here rather than the perfected version he'd had in Valhalla. But this is Tony as Steve has always known him, braver and stronger than anyone he's ever known.

Steve barely has time to register the desire to lean in to kiss Tony's lips before his body is moving to do exactly that. It's nothing more than a brief brush of lips, warm and tender and everything that Steve hadn't thought kissing Tony would be like. Steve lets himself revel in it for longer than he thinks he should, glad of the chance to prove to himself that this is real, that Tony is alive. By the time he registers that he should probably pull away from Tony and apologize, Tony's hand is already at his nape, holding him close. Firm, but not demanding. Holding. Asking. Steve sinks into Tony at that, his body relaxing against Tony's chest. Tony's lips curl up in a smile against his, and Steve can't help smiling back. They linger there, more just sharing breath than actually kissing, until Tony pulls back.

He smiles up at Steve, eyes soft and warm. "Yeah?"

Steve smiles back, closing his eyes and planting his forehead against Tony's. "Yeah."

"How long?"

Steve shrugs. "How long have I loved you? Probably forever. How long have I known?" He chuckles, dry and frustrated. "Probably since you used those damn Infinity Stones to undo the biggest fuck-up of my life."

Tony stays quiet for long enough that Steve opens his eyes. Tony's expression is thoughtful, and bordering on annoyed. "You really think that?"

Steve shrugs. "I think that if I hadn't destroyed our friendship and fucked off to nowhere we would have been strong enough to take him down the first time. I think we wouldn't have needed to wait five years to undo all his darkness. I think that you're a whole hell of a lot more powerful than anyone likes to give you credit for, myself included, and that if you hadn't felt the need to go flying off to the other end of the universe in that damned spaceship, we could have had our last stand on Earth five years earlier and saved everyone a lot of pain. And we both know that was my fault."

"It takes two to tango, Steve."

"And only one to break form." He shakes his head. "You're not going to change my mind on this."

"Really?" There's something cheeky in the smirk that Tony sends his way that leaves something fluttering in Steve's stomach. "You sure about that?"

"What, you think you can convince me?"

Tony smiles, something soft and knowing in his features. He reaches out and pulls Steve into a deep, warm kiss. It hints at something more, something else, and though Steve understands the implication, he's not sure he can reconcile it with the man he's just brought home with him. Before Steve can find the strength to pull back, Tony pulls away from his mouth, trailing his lips down Steve's throat to press, feather-light, against his collar bone. Steve closes his eyes, heart clenching at the touch.

"Dunno," Tony says, tilting his head back to smile up at Steve. His eyes are warm and bright and a little lost. "I've been told I can be pretty convincing."

Steve tilts his head at the implication. "Tony—"

Tony shakes his head. "I know. Not really the time." He quirks his lips. "Can you really blame me, though?"

Steve fels his face go soft and sappy at that. He reaches up, cupping Tony's face in his hand and pulling him in close, pressing their foreheads together. "No. I can't."

Tony hums, pressing forward to kiss the corner of Steve's mouth. It's a gentle, barely-there touch that has Steve longing for slow mornings in bed with the man he loves. This, the two of them together, is what he's always wanted, and this is the way things are supposed to be. This is them, their home, their universe, safe and whole and theirs again. Steve is alive again and he has Tony at his side. Everything is going to be just fine.


End file.
